


One

by Orinoco_II



Series: Codas [1]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Episode: Big Finish Audio Drama 2.5: Broken, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 16:11:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14288610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orinoco_II/pseuds/Orinoco_II
Summary: The story of the 'just this once' that Jack and Ianto agreed to.





	One

The only words that Ianto utters on the brief drive to his flat are directions. He keeps his eyes on the road and his jumbled thoughts to himself. He can still taste Jack on his lips and feel the slight scrape of stubble where their chins met. A one night stand with Jack Harkness. Is he crazy? There’s a voice in his head already answering, which may just give him a clue.

Ianto doesn’t want to face a note shoved under his door or – worse still – left under the wipers of the SUV reminding him about parking permits for guests, so he directs Jack to park on the road opposite the block of flats. As he punches in the door code and leads Jack upstairs, still in silence, he suddenly panics. What state is his flat in? Did he make the bed this morning? When’s the last time he changed his sheets? Has he done the washing up recently? Is his underwear hanging up all round the flat? Will Jack notice, or even care?

He puts the key in the lock and opens the door with trepidation. No washing he sees immediately, grateful not to have to face the mortification of Jack seeing his pants everywhere, even if he’s already invited Jack to see far more than his pants.

He turns to Jack, who seems somehow too big for his small hallway. “Let me take your coat.”

“Thanks.” Jack lets Ianto slide his coat off his shoulders as he has done so many times before at work.

Ianto hangs it up and swallows. What’s the protocol for a situation like this? If he’s honest, he’s not really done one night stands before. Not with a man, definitely not with his boss, and certainly not with a man like Jack.

“Coffee?” he splutters eventually.

“Sure.”

He darts into the kitchen, pleased to see that it’s in a fairly respectable state. Ianto is, by nature, a clean and tidy person, but with the hours he works, things tend to pile up and often he doesn’t have the energy to deal with them when he drags himself in at God-knows-what hour. Plus, he’s been spending a lot of his free time down the pub these days. Neither of those facts are particularly conducive to keeping on top of the housework.

He does everything on autopilot – filling the kettle, getting out the coffee, finding mugs – all the while painfully aware that Jack Harkness is standing in the middle of his kitchen examining him as if he’s an exhibit at a living history museum.

“You can back out,” Jack says softly. “If this is…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t need to. If this is too weird. Intense. Panic-inducing. Ianto could supply a plethora of adjectives to complete the thought. He turns to face Jack, his eyes wide.

How do they do this? How do they get from coffee to fucking? Jack’s standing there, sleeves rolled up, hands on hips, not a hair out of place, and Ianto knows that he wants him. He’s been so desperately intrigued by him for so long now and…

“Ianto?”

Ianto realises he’s staring. Jack tilts his head and looks at him with a patronisingly concerned expression. Damned if Ianto is going to let Jack Harkness _pity_ him.

So he takes a step forward and kisses him.

Jack kisses back, forcefully. Those arms that Ianto was just admiring are around his waist and up his back; Jack’s hands in his hair. It’s new and strange and incredible. More adjectives to add to the pot. Jack pushes him back against the kitchen surface, one hand now tugging at the knot on Ianto’s tie. Ianto has no idea what to do, so he simply clings on and hopes he can last out the ride. Still kissing, lips and tongues aching, he can’t break away from Jack. He just can’t.

Jack’s hands are working at his belt buckle now. Soon, his flies are open and Jack’s hand is inside, grasping his growing erection and Ianto lets out an embarrassingly high pitched whimper.

The kiss stops.

Ianto feels as though he’s been thrust out from under water. His breathing is ragged and uneven, rasping in his ears. He blinks and looks down. Jack’s on his knees in front of him and then…

Oh god. Another whimper. Jack’s lips so hot sliding down around him. And Ianto can’t contain himself any longer as he drives into Jack’s mouth. It’s as if Jack knows this is what he needs – this release.

There’s a moment, with his fingers gripping tightly to the edge of the kitchen surface, eyes squeezed shut, hips thrusting as his climax rushes tingling downwards, that Ianto stops _hurting_. There’s nothing. He’s blank. It’s just him and Jack and his orgasm and nothing else in the world.

He comes violently and jerkily, amazed that Jack doesn’t pull away but keeps his grip on Ianto’s hips and holds fast until he’s spent. Eyes still shut tight, he feels the sudden cold as Jack pulls back and gets unsteadily to his feet, prising Ianto’s hand free from the surface and guiding it downwards.

Afterwards, they stand with foreheads touching as their breathing slows, a web of Jack’s come splattered across Ianto’s shirt.

“When you said, ‘just this once’, you meant one night, not _literally_ just the once, right?” Jack asks eventually, an anxious note to his voice.

Ianto shakes his head slowly. “No.”

“No…to which?” Jack queries, still nervous.

Ianto rolls his eyes. “What do you think?” Moving Jack out of the way, he walks towards the door. He glances back over his shoulder to see Jack still standing apprehensively by his kitchen surface. Ianto arches an eyebrow. “Coming?”

It’s only when they’re naked, on his bed (with its, thankfully, recently changed sheets) that Ianto has that same feeling – the blankness; the absence-of-pain. That Jack’s body is all smooth curves and muscle makes only the slightest prick at Ianto’s consciousness, as Jack pins him to his bed with flurries of kissing and dextrous hands and an insanely flexible pair of hips. Ianto lies beneath him, revelling in being enveloped by this feeling that’s setting every inch of him on fire.

They lie together in silence afterwards, sprawled out on top of the duvet, Jack’s hand companionably resting under Ianto’s neck. Ianto isn’t sure what sort of pillow talk one engages in after a ‘just this once’ with the boss. _Did you remember to sign those forms I left on your desk?_ doesn’t quite seem appropriate, yet nor does _You’ve got quite the impressive cock, sir_ either.

“It’s getting late,” Jack says eventually, pushing himself up on his elbows and looking over at Ianto’s alarm clock. It’s just gone one. “I should probably go.”

That was it then, Ianto surmises. Their one night over. Inside him, the pain returns, biting at that space inside his chest.

“Yeah,” Ianto says, for lack of anything better to say.

“That your bathroom?” Jack points to the door.

“Yep.”

Jack swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up, stretching. Ianto sits up, pulling his knees to his chest and watches Jack swipe his clothes from the floor and disappear into the bathroom, an unintentionally wistful sigh escaping as he realises that will be the last he sees of that perfect arse.

He looks down, running a finger through the come that’s slowly drying in his chest hair. Not so straight as I thought I was, he thinks to himself with a wry smile. But really – who could resist Jack Harkness? With his pheromones, and his smile, and his _body_. Ianto’s got what he wanted. One night of sex; one night to forget the pain.

Ianto slips into his pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt. Jack emerges from the bathroom, fully dressed and looking as pristine as ever. Ianto leads him to the front door where he collects his coat and shrugs it on. Ianto stands and watches. It would somehow seem strange to help him into it now.

Jack turns to him with an expression in his eyes that Ianto could swear was sadness with a dash of regret. Or maybe he’s imagining things.

“Thanks, for tonight,” Jack says, his voice awkward and stilted. “I hope it helped.”

“A little.” Ianto forces a smile.

“Good.” Jack leans forward and kisses him, soft and lingering. Ianto’s pulse quickens despite himself. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, sir.”


End file.
